


Old Traditions

by starforged



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, Inquistion Spoilers, minor AUs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-17
Updated: 2014-12-17
Packaged: 2018-03-01 20:06:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,159
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2785994
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starforged/pseuds/starforged
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Over ten years ago, before the Blight and the Inquisition, Evelyn Trevelyan was tasked with the small duty of making sure her sisters wouldn't cause trouble at the annual cheese rolling festival. Over ten years ago, Captain Thom Rainier decided to help a troubled noble out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Old Traditions

**Author's Note:**

> A fill for the DA k!meme.

Evelyn frowns as she follows her father out onto the field, his hand heavy on her shoulder as she comes to stand next to him. The hill rises up before them, and he puts a hand against his brow to gaze up at it.

“We’ll win this year,” he says, and her frown grows deeper.

“The prize isn’t even that great,” she huffs.

She is fifteen, and well… Rolling hunks of cheese down hills, trying to catch them? Not exactly exciting business. But it’s the fame of Ostwick, which speaks a lot of her home.

Her father gives her a disapproving look, and for a second, her shoulders slump. “I take it you will not be racing the family cheese wheel?”

Her nose wrinkles at that, but she’s happy for the jovial tone in his voice. There are times when she is sure her father wants nothing more than to knock her in the head, especially when she disagrees with him. Not that he is an unkind father, but he had wished for sons and ended up with three daughters by two different wives. 

“I will do my best to support you and your bad hips as you run down the hill,” she says in response.

That one earns her a grin, and he claps her on the back gently before his hand is back on her shoulder, steering her away from the end marker for the race. They climb back up the hill to their family and to what she is sure is the whole of Ostwick in attendance for this strange cultural affair. 

Already, she can see two of her neighbors squabbling over who has the better hunk of cheese, and she can’t resist the roll of her eyes. 

“Ronald! There you are,” her stepmother greets, waving them over with the flapping of her bird-like hands. She presses a kiss to her father’s cheek before giving Evelyn a smile. “I was wondering where you two had run off. I lost Eleanor and Emily. Would you be a dear and go find them, Evie?”

Evelyn’s lips part in protest, but she decides not to. She will have to find her little sisters in the end, regardless, and protesting has never ended well for her. You’re their older sister, she’ll be told. You are their keeper. The Maker has charged you with protecting them from harm.

Who would even think of harming a Trelevyan in the middle of their festival, where the whole city would know? 

Instead, she presses two fingers to her brow and gives a little salute to her stepmother. “Two rascally children, post-haste.”

Now, if she were a child again, where is it that she would run off to? Tilting her head up, she tries to see through the crowd, but to no avail. Still, it gives her a better advantage to sniff the food being made and sold in the stalls nearby, and her stomach growls loudly. If she were a little girl, she would go in search of food. 

Evelyn shoves her way through the crowds until she can find the line of stalls with all of their goods on display. Here is just as crowded and as noisy as any other place, but it shouldn’t be too hard to find girls in messy dresses and messier pigtails. As long as she kept her eyes on the ground, she could do this. 

She could--

Something tall, wide, and immovable stops her square in her tracks, her forehead butting up against said object’s chest. _Chest._ Licking her lips nervously, Evelyn catches a whiff of sweat and dirt and grass and musk, things she has slowly been learning is a scent that belongs to men. Not wholly undesirable, but strange to think about. 

“Excuse me, my lady,” said object with the manly scent laughs, and a blush spreads like wildfire over her cheeks as she finally manages to look up. And up.

He’s _incredibly_ tall. And handsome. Older. Perhaps a bit younger than her own father, but still quite handsome. She calculates this all in a few bold glances, taking in his slicked back dark hair and the warm color of his slate eyes. Strange, that anything as gray as a stormy sky could be called _warm_. But maybe, she thinks, it’s because she has never been quite so close to a man that was not her family before.

“No, ser, that was - I should have been looking where I was going,” she sputters, doing her level best to keep her voice still, to maintain a level of airiness that her stepmother always seems to have. 

The man - soldier, perhaps? She isn’t quite sure who he is, but his accent tells her that he’s no Free Marcher - gives her a soft smile. “Have you lost something?”

“Technically, I do believe their mother lost them, but I am searching for my sisters.” She holds her hand to about waist level. “So high, both with dark hair in pigtails. They are probably rolling around in mud somewhere, or stealing someone’s cheese so that our family can win this year.”

He makes a thoughtful noise in the back of his throat. “I do not believe I’ve seen these little ones, but what sort of gentleman would it make me to leave such a lovely lady on her own.”

It takes her a moment before Evelyn brightens, a smile spreading across her face. “Oh, no, please don’t trouble yourself!” Her actions, of course, contradict her words. But what sort of noble woman would she be to so eagerly accept a stranger’s help? She has to make a show of denying it.

His laugh is like a rumble. “I insist. Captain Rainier, at your service, my lady.” He bows low and she glows now under the attention. A few of her neighbors stop to stare, whispering behind their hands.

She decides that it’s just jealousy. __They__ don’t have handsome captains bowing to them and offering to find two misplaced little girls. “Lady Evelyn Trevelyan.”

“A lady indeed, then.” Rainier straightens and offers his arm to escort her through the crowd. “Do your sisters often run off?”

“Oh, yes. They’re little demons,” Evelyn explains as she lets the captain be the one to push people aside. “They’re always together, if that helps.” He’s so tall, he must be able to see over these people. 

“What would they be wearing?”

She tries to remember, but she can’t quite recall. Perhaps that makes her a bad sister. There’s part of her, she thinks, that resents them in a way. They have their mother, and they have their father’s dotage. As if somehow, them being born second and third means that they have less to live up to. She bites her lip for a moment. Well, they do, don’t they? They will not be the one to inherit like she will. They are not the ones who will be pushed for the greatest match they can obtain so that her father can climb the social ranks. 

She should just be grateful that she is not being shipped to the Chantry to become a lay sister, which is something she fears might happen. 

“Dresses, for sure.” 

But there are plenty of little girls, her and Rainier soon discover, running around with dresses on. The festival is a madhouse as it always is, and she can’t understand why their mother would let them run off in the first place.

Her teeth grind together. “You would think they could at least have the decency to stay put.”

Rainier pats her hand. “You’re worried.”

The observation cuts straight through her, her eyes going wide as her head snaps in his direction. “I--”

Is she worried? What reason does she have to be worried about them? It takes a moment for her to understand that he’s _right_.

“The world is going mad,” Evelyn begins to say, trying to sound as grown up as she can manage. But the way he looks at her, the serious glint in his eyes as she says this, tells her that she doesn’t have to sound like an adult. He looks at her like everything she says is a gift, and there’s something about that that makes her feel more comfortable. “Even if they are brats, they’re still my brats. I dare anyone to try and cross a Trevelyan anyway!”

She wasn’t the best warrior there was, _yet_ , but she had bested plenty of her father’s men in her attempts to show that she was better off not becoming chattle. Let her bring honor in her own way. Let her serve the Chantry in a different way. She could become a warrior, a hero. 

Rainier disengages himself from her as they reach the outer edges of the festival. She stands on her toes, her brand news boots creaking as she does so. 

“I didn’t notice at first, Lady Evelyn, but you’re a fighter, aren’t you?”

She beams at him, momentarily distracted from her search. “I’ve been swinging a sword since I was knee high. Wooden swords, then. I’ve been working on my two-handed swing.”

His eyebrows are thick, she notices, as they rise up high on his forehead. A low whistle emits from his lips. “Nobody indeed would dare to cross your path. Tell me more about your sisters.”

She lowers herself back to the flats of her feet. “Emily’s the oldest, by a year. She’s kind of quiet compared to Eleanor, but Eleanor is definitely the politician. She knows how to talk her way out of practically everything, and it has nothing to do with her sweet face.” Evelyn can feel a smile quirking at the corners of her mouth. “This one year, at our Aunt Millicent’s birthday party, Emily had snuck into one of her off limits room on a dare, to steal one of her precious glass eggs. Pretty things, but useless. Anyway, so Emily sneaks in and the whole time, Eleanor is charming the guards meant to be watching the display by telling them stories about her rabbits. _Rabbits_ , Captain. They are the most boring little things I have ever seen.”

She makes him laugh again, as if she’s just told the best story in the world, and most of the time, she knows when some ass is only humoring her. She’s pretty and young and the eldest daughter of Bann Ronald Trevelyan. Rainier’s different. His laugh is genuine, and she finds that she likes that she can draw that sound out of him. This must be the magic of wrapping a man around your finger.

“And what happened to this egg?”

Her lips press together as she tries to swallow down her smile. “It… is still sitting on my dressing table.”

A gift, her sisters had said. A gift for her, because she was the best sister. And here she was, attempting to flirt with a man twice her age when she should be searching for them.

She snaps her fingers. “I know where they might have gotten off to!”

Her fingers wrap around the cuff of his shirt, and she drags him back into the crowd with her. Her grip remains tight, so that she doesn’t lose him. Rainier offers no resistance.

“I don’t think going through the crowd is the fastest way we could get there,” the captain protests, offering apologies now and then when Evelyn barrells her way through.

“The rabbits, Captain Rainier! They often have a hunting competition later in the day with marked rabbits,” she explains in huffing breaths. 

“You think that is where they are?”

“Oh, I know it is.”

“Well, then.” His arm wraps around her waist, easily lifting her off of the ground. And what is the purpose of all her training and the muscles she’s honed if he can simply lift her like a doll? “To the rabbits we go before they start any mischief.”

He sets her back down on the ground again after a moment, but her breath is all but gone, her face on fire at the feel of him against her back. Men are dangerous, she decides then and there. They are a dangerous sort, more terrifying and tempting than any demons. 

They creep out of the large crowd, but not before one of the guards set up around the festival. He’s young, and probably assumes he is some hero, saving a poor girl from such a man. His fingers hook around her elbow and tug her to the side. 

“Where are you off to, miss?” He glares at the captain. 

Evelyn smacks his arm off. “I am off to save our stupid tradition and my father’s great name. Do you mind?”

Rainier wraps a protective arm around her shoulders. “You understand, she is on a mission from Bann Trevelyan. Speak with him should you wish to question her motives further.”

“Ser, I would have you unhand the lady this moment.” The fuss begins to draw the attention of the crowd, and she can see a few of her uncles sizing up the situation. Sizing up her and the bear of a man at her side and the little soldier who thought he could.

“I’m afraid--”

“Oh!” Evelyn cuts Rainier off with a frustrated grunt. “We do not have _time_ for any of this!”

So she does exactly what her dear stepmother and disappointed father would have a heart attack: she kicks the guard in the kneecap, takes Rainier’s hand in hers, and pulls him off to where she knows they are keeping the rabbits caged up.

Sure enough, her actions cause a panic that has nothing to do with her safety and everything to do with her impropriety. But instead of the feeling of anxiety that usually crawls down her throat, she laughs, throwing her head back and embracing the freedom of not caring. 

“My lady, you are something of a troublemaker,” Rainier tells her as they slow down. His fingers drop from hers after a moment of lingering that lasted too long. She misses them. If she’s going to bring a bad name to her family, she might as well have something nice out of it.

She tosses her dark hair over her shoulder and gives him a smirk. “You did say you would have to watch out for me. Don’t go back on your word just yet, Captain. I’ve got quite a few years to go to _really_ show you what I’ve got.”

They find her sisters exactly where she expects to, Emily sitting on the ground with a rather large gray bunny in her lap. The other cages are empty, Eleanor’s little hands on her hips as she gives a gap-toothed grin of triumph at both Evelyn and Rainier.

“It took me less time than last, Evie!” Eleanor proudly declares.

Emily glances up for a moment. “Mother is going to be angry.”

Evelyn pinches the bridge of her nose. “I have been looking all over for you two.”

Rainier kneels down next to Emily, large fingers brushing through the rabbit’s thick fur. “You got yourself a good one here.” He glances up at Eleanor. “You did the right thing, releasing them.”

Evelyn makes a face. “Don’t encourage them. How am I going to explain this to everyone?”

Eleanor copies the face. “Why do we have to--”

“I’ll take the blame for it,” Rainier speaks up. He gets to his feet, the rabbit in his arms just long enough for Emily to stand as well. He glances back at Evelyn. “What’s the most that will happen? They ban the foreigner from rolling cheese down a hill? You have to get your sisters back safe and sound.”

“Ah, now you’re asking me to leave a man behind,” she tuts, but it’s better than taking the blame for all of this. Perhaps the family name won’t be dishonored, this the day of Ostwick’s most important tradition.

He rubs the back of his neck, still wearing that kind smile. “Consider it a sacrifice for the good of three ladies.”

Eleanor takes Evelyn’s hand. “Don’t let his sacrifice go to waste.”

“Thank you, Captain Rainier. You’re a good man.” She eyes her sisters and the captain once more before surging forward, her youngest sister dragging behind her. Rising up on her toes again, she presses a kiss to the captain’s cheek, lingering for a moment longer than she needs to. “Thank you.”

And then she takes Emily’s hand in her free one, marching them back off to her stepmother.

\--

“We met once.”

It is late at night, but she has been having trouble sleeping as of late. She holds her hand with the mark close to her torso as she sits on the stool next to the work table Blackwall is sitting at, polishing up the little rocking horse he has been working on during his spare time.

These days, she isn’t sure if he’s awake because of his own sins crushing his chest at night, or if it’s because he knows she’ll be here. 

He stops in his work, as if stunned by her voice. His hands still, and she misses them on her, she realizes. She shakes her head to clear her thoughts before dragging her gaze up to his. 

“My lady?”

“Before. It took me a while to put it together, but we have met before. When you were Thom and I wasn’t anything to write home about.”

He squints at her, bushy brows furrowing as he begins to rattle his brain. Honestly, she doesn’t expect him to remember it. It was over ten years ago, after all, and it had taken her some time to piece it together as well.

“The cheese rolling event?” his voice finally rumbles, a hint of recognition in his tone. “And the rabbits.”

“She still has that stupid rabbit, you know. And a husband, oddly enough.” Evelyn shakes her head. In that moment, he moves closer to her, and she allows him, not flinching from the man he is now. 

“That was right before…” He sighs and leans his forehead against hers. “You did become someone to watch out for.” His hand presses to the small of her back, and in inches, she slowly lets herself relax into him.

She has missed this big bear of a man, and it’s strange to think about how she used to want to impress the man he once was, that she spent a couple of years attempting to before her hero worship fell on the shoulders of the Hero of Ferelden.

“In more ways that one, it would seem,” she teases, and he kisses the corner of her smirk.

“You don’t seem to mind any part of that.” Blackwall holds her tighter. “I have always wondered - who _did_ win the event that day?”

Evelyn laughs, wrapping her arms around his neck as she sways him around the barn in a dance that has no music and no rhythm. “I did, of course.”


End file.
